


Molly Gets Her Chuckles

by satin_doll



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, My brain short-circuited, Sherlock and Molly have dinner, Sherlock and Molly on a case, Two Scenes with Molly and Sherlock, pure silliness, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 00:31:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11196699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satin_doll/pseuds/satin_doll
Summary: Life with Sherlock can be intense. And sometimes, it's just...weird.





	Molly Gets Her Chuckles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OhAine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhAine/gifts).



> For OhAine, because she told me it would be okay.

Molly sat back in her chair, picked up her glass of wine, and sighed with satisfaction. It was an excellent dinner, the soft music playing in the background was soothing, and Sherlock - for once - was behaving himself, at least so far. She felt a frown tugging at her brow and tried to push aside the nagging doubts that were the cause. She wasn’t going to let her suspicions ruin her lovely evening. 

She glanced at Sherlock, who was busy shoveling white chocolate mousse topped with fresh raspberries into his mouth, and sighed again (this time with a bit more subtlety - she didn’t want Sherlock suddenly frowning at her and saying “What?” with his mouth full of mousse and raspberries.) 

Sherlock looked up from his dish and eyed her through his lashes. He had heard that second sigh. He wasn’t going to comment. He wanted to finish his dessert and enjoy the rest of the evening. These occasions with Molly didn’t happen often; he wasn’t going to spoil it. He was just licking the last of the extraordinarily delicious mousse from his spoon, when Molly leaned forward across the table, rather rudely put her elbow on it, and propped her chin on her hand. 

“You know, Sherlock…” she began.

“Yes. I do know. Please don’t say it.”

Molly sat back, the frown fully formed on her face now. 

“You have no idea what I was going to say.” She indignantly crossed her arms across her chest.

“Yes, I do. You were going to first compliment me on my good behavior, then add that you wish all our evenings together could be so pleasant. Really, Molly. That would have been quite a backhanded compliment. I’m not a child.”

Molly looked up at the ceiling and muttered, “And there you go proving my point. Everything has been so nice up til now…”

Sherlock ignored her. He patted his lips with his napkin, placed it on the table, then stood and held out his hand. 

“Shall we?”

Molly stood, silently, and pulled her shawl around her shoulders. She ignored Sherlock’s offered hand and began to walk toward the door. Sherlock rolled his eyes and followed. 

At the door, Molly suddenly stopped, nearly causing Sherlock to tread on her heel. 

“Wait…aren’t you going to pay the bill?”

Sherlock waved his hand as if tossing her words away. “No need. It’s all gratis. Owner…”

“Owes you a favor. Right.”

Molly continued out the door into the warm night. 

On the sidewalk, she paused and turned to Sherlock. She put her hand lightly on his chest and looked up at him earnestly.

“Let’s not…let’s just enjoy the rest of the evening, okay? I’ll be good if you will. No remarks.” 

He looked down at her and tried to smile, though he suspected the expression wasn’t quite as sweet as he intended it to be. He was still practicing those expressions. He was getting better at it but it still…wasn’t…quite…perfect…

Molly grinned at him, patted him once on the chest, perfectly aware of his effort. She turned and continued down the walk. Sherlock followed, slipping his hand in his trouser pocket as he did. Molly turned to wait for him to catch up. 

Sherlock’s fingers met something soft and sort of squishy in his pocket. Something a bit… _wriggly_ …

He quickly pulled his hand out of his pocket, holding the wriggly, sort of squishy soft something.

“NNNYAHHH!!!” Molly watched in alarm as Sherlock yelled and threw something on the ground in front of him and danced backwards. Whatever it was, it was small and black and roundish. She walked up to it and looked down. It looked like…

“Sherlock?” She glanced up at him a few feet away, then back down at the black thing, then back at Sherlock. He moved to her and bent to pick up the thing on the ground. She peered at it curiously and then her eyes widened. 

“Is that…?”

He swallowed and looked away from her, his lips pressed together in a tight line, and held the black thing out to her. It appeared to be a rubber spider, more realistic looking than any fake spider had a right to be. 

“I…forgot. I put it in my pocket this afternoon. I was…going to play a joke on John when we met for lunch tomorrow.” He shuddered and put the rubber spider in the pocket of his jacket. “I _hate_ spiders.”

The sound that came out of Molly at that point put to shame every snort she had ever snorted. Sherlock was amazed at some of the noises Molly could make when she really got going. She bent over, hands on her knees, and gasped and wheezed until Sherlock began to worry she might be heading for a seizure. She finally couldn’t stand at all and collapsed on her bum right there on the sidewalk, red-faced, tears streaming down her cheeks, holding her sides while she hiccuped and snorted and guffawed. Sherlock stood over her, looking around, extremely relieved that no one else was in sight.

She laughed for a good five minutes before she began to subside a bit. Sherlock waited until it looked like she might be winding down, then reached to help her up, carefully fishing a handkerchief out of his pocket (he didn’t _think_ he had any other surprises stashed in his pockets, but he wasn’t sure) for her to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

“Are you quite finished?” 

Molly looked up at him and quashed the giggles that were threatening to erupt again. “I think so.”

“Coffee?”

“Sure.” 

Sherlock offered his arm and Molly hooked her hand in his elbow, grinning as they walked away. She didn’t notice how he tried to suppress the quirk at the corners of his mouth.

*****

_One Week Later…_

They had been hiding in the bushes for hours. Molly had to pee, she was hot and itchy and tired, and all she wanted was a nice cool drink and her cushy bed. 

“Why are we doing this?” she hissed at Sherlock, rubbing her nose and trying not to sneeze. She had no idea what this bush was that kept poking her in the face, but she was convinced she was allergic to it. 

“I explained it to you. He’s supposed to try breaking into the house tonight. Quit whining,” Sherlock hissed back at her. 

Whoever they were waiting for was obviously late. Or he had given up on the idea and wasn’t going to show at all. She was just about to bring this up to Sherlock, when she felt him stiffen and put his hand on her shoulder. He held his finger to his lips to shush her (which she resented slightly; it wasn’t as if she didn’t know how to be quiet) as they spied a man in a dark coat creeping down the walk. 

Molly watched the figure shuffle toward them, and frowned. From where they crouched in the bushes beside the house, it appeared the man’s legs were bare. He walked slightly bent over, holding the coat tightly wrapped around him with his hands. From what she could see in the dim light, he was an older man, his thinning hair almost white. His feet were stuffed into galoshes that slapped against his shins as he shuffled. This was certainly not what she expected a housebreaker to look like.

Suddenly Sherlock straightened and stepped out from the cover of the bushes. Molly quickly followed and stood watching as Sherlock spoke.

“Well, Mr. Spode, you certainly took your time…”

The old man straightened a bit as his eyes boggled at Sherlock. The man’s mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish as he stared at them. Then he shrieked, his voice high and shrill. Molly jumped and clutched at Sherlock’s arm.

The man suddenly pulled off his coat and threw it at Sherlock (who caught it deftly, having such good reflexes) and Molly’s mouth dropped open. 

Under the coat, the man was completely naked. He continued shrieking wordlessly, and actually hopped up and down a few times, waving his skinny arms wildly in the air, looking for all the world like a white, nearly hairless yowling monkey. 

Suddenly he balled his fists and shook them at Sherlock and turned and ran. 

A few feet down the walk, he stopped and turned and screamed at Sherlock, “Fewk yer bum!” Then he was off again, around the corner of the house and out of sight.

Sherlock stood frozen for a moment, staring after the monkey-man, still holding the coat. He suddenly seemed to realise what he was holding and dropped the nasty, smelly thing (which was filthy and most likely crawling with all manner of vile and disgusting creatures) and turned to Molly.

“Fewk yer bum? What does that even _mean_?” Sherlock stared into space, buffering.

Molly began to giggle, which turned into snorts and gasps and then she was bent over, holding her sides. 

“I t-take it that…was…wasn’t…our…houseb-breaker…” she gasped out. She clamped her hands over her mouth to stifle the laughs.

Sherlock was still staring into space, silently mouthing the words “Fewk yer bum” over and over.

The housebreaker never showed.

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies. Apparently the Muse thought she'd have some giggles and stuff this into my brain. And of course then it had to come out. Both are taken from flesh life incidents and then dumped onto Molly and Sherlock (and I'm sure they'd both give me an earful about it if they could.) No fake spiders or old naked men were harmed during the flesh life incidents.


End file.
